


Sugar Baby Love

by Dumbfacewriter



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Fluff, M/M, aggressive baking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3937675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dumbfacewriter/pseuds/Dumbfacewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik hadn't really expected to start a baking war with his new neighbor, but who does, these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar Baby Love

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to [edetallen](http://edetallen.tumblr.com) for being an amazing cheerleader and for finding the title !
> 
> The idea came from [this post](http://dumbfacemonster.tumblr.com/post/113826320156/thebrassyopeningtoirresistible-a-list-of-aus-for).
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this.
> 
> EDIT : A Chinese translation is now available [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4405400) thanks to the lovely [Diannaisafreeelf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Diannaisafreeelf/pseuds/Diannaisafreeelf) !

 Alright. Erik was going to fix this. He didn’t know how yet, but he’d eventually have to come up with something, because this situation was unacceptable. Outrageous, even.

He stormed inside his house, slamming his front door in frustration. He went straight into his kitchen and put the plate he was carrying on the counter, before holding tightly onto it, his knuckles blanching. He took a deep breath.

Who was this man, anyway ? Or who did he think he was, barging in the neighborhood like this and disturbing the peace and quiet of their street ? No one had ever dared to question the way things were before. When you moved in, you had to earn the respect of the residents through hard work, and it took time. Erik remembered his trial period in the first few months after he had arrived, and still felt no small amount of pride seeing how far he’d come. Hard work, and patience, yes, this was how you made yourself a place in the neighborhood.

But this man ! People barely knew his face, as pretty as it was, his house was probably still crammed with boxes everywhere, and here he was, showing up to Mrs Patterson’s birthday. With heavenly brownies. What kind of asshole did that.

See, the day had started pretty well for Erik. It was a warm Sunday, the kind of weather he liked, perfect for his morning jog. He said hello to Mrs Allen walking her dog on the opposite sidewalk, asked Mrs Harvey about her arthritis, and joked with Mr Daniels about the latest miserable performance of the local football team. He quickly excused himself though, and went home to shower and get everything ready in the kitchen.

Now began the real business. For Erik was the absolute best at baking in the entire neighborhood.

Some people could think he was being a tad sure of himself, thinking stuff like that. But really, it wasn’t that he thought it; he _knew_ it. And every single person who had ever had the privilege to taste his pies could bear witness to it. No need to be falsely modest about it: Erik was an actual baking god.

(So what, he was really proud of his skills.)

He could always rely on his pastries to keep him in people’s good graces, even when his bad temper decided to say hello again. It was something his mother had taught him: no one ever holds a grudge for long when you keep their stomachs happy. This lesson had never failed him, and here he was, invited to all the parties, and always bringing a pie along. Sure, all the parties meant old ladies’ birthdays. But they were nice, so it didn’t really bother him.

Mrs Patterson, then. She was always overjoyed when he brought her a caramel nut tart, rambling on and on about how it reminded her of her youth and her Granny and all that. So she would most certainly appreciate it on her sixty seventh birthday.

Once he had checked his cupboards for all the ingredients he would need, Erik set to work. Tying his apron tightly around his waist, he started mixing the flour with some cinnamon, nutmeg, sugar and salt. It was more or less muscle memory alone making him go through the different steps of the recipe, so used to it he could probably follow it with his eyes closed. But it was never boring to him, instead he always felt quite peaceful when he worked. He could let his thoughts wander harmlessly, and they often went back to his mother, the memories tightly entwined with his current occupation.

It was always in his kitchen that Erik felt the closest to her, but the absence of her cheery comments when he worked never failed to remind him just how far away she really was.

Setting the tart to slowly bake in the oven, Erik wiped in hands on his apron before untying it and setting it on a chair. He wasn’t usually so nostalgic when he was working, but these days, he felt keenly the lack of another person in his house. There wasn’t anyone to tell him what he was doing smelt good, and really, there wasn’t anyone to eat what he did with. Well, if he put aside the old ladies living off his pies.

Erik sighed loudly on his way upstairs. This was getting ridiculous. He had never needed anyone to eat his cooking, thank you very much.

When his oven’s timer finally went off, Erik delicately got his tart out of its mold and onto a large plate. Checking the time, he nodded to himself, covered everything with a cloth and got out into the street, walking slowly towards Mrs Patterson’s house as to not shake his tart too much.

Getting closer to the house, Erik could see that most of the guests had already arrived. It wasn’t that he was late, per see, but since moving in, he had learned that old people had generally nothing to do and thus tended to show up early. And it meant that he was usually assailed by a dozen of tiny old ladies coming to greet him.

“Oh Erik, you came! We weren’t sure you’d show up, boy, Dorothy wouldn’t have been offended if you had something better to do than mingle with us.”  
“Hello Mrs Andrews, and I told you already, I enjoy being surrounded by so many pretty young things all at once,” Erik answered with a wink. Mrs Andrews giggled, as he knew she would, and playfully swatted his arm.

“Oh look at you saying such nice things, you’d think you were trying to make us behave like teenagers again, blushing every time you say something. These are not things to say to respectable ladies like us!”  
“Leave the poor boy alone Karen, and let him say hello to everyone!” Erik turned around to see Mrs Patterson walking towards him. He smiled, and bent slightly when she was near enough to give her a one armed hug, always mindful of the plate he was balancing in his left hand.

“Hello Mrs Patterson, and happy birthday.”  
“How many times have I told you to call me Dorothy, hm? You’ll never do it, will you?”

Erik grinned cheekily. “Probably not, Mrs Patterson.”

She laughed, and ushered him towards the kitchen to set his plate with all the others already on the counter. Doing a quick swipe of it with his eyes, he nodded to himself. No other cake. Everyone knew it was useless to bake, these days; Erik always did enough for everyone, and it was guaranteed to be delicious.

It took him a long time to greet all the guests, but he didn’t mind, really. All the old ladies liked him, for some reason, and he had grown quite fond of them, with the years. They always had some exciting new gossip to tell him about, keeping him well informed of everything happening in the neighborhood.

“Oh did you meet Mrs Blake’s new tenant already?” Mrs Andrews lived next door to Mrs Blake’s house, and ever since the poor lady had to be moved to an institution, many people had lived there. All of them had left quickly, something about it being too quiet. Nonsense, really. There was nothing quiet about his neighbors, in Erik’s opinion.

“So the house is rented again? I thought it’d take a bit longer than that,” Erik said, frowning slightly. The last tenants had left only two weeks ago. Not that it was his problem in any way, but still.

Mrs Andrews shook her head, keeping on. “Well, he did say he had been looking for something in the area for quite some time already. He’s a teacher at the university nearby, did you know? Such a bright young man.  And very dashing, too,” she added, with a small wink in Erik’s direction.

Erik refrained from rolling his eyes. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that he had certain preferences, he had never been one for hiding himself, after all. He just didn’t think when he moved in that it would lead to a council of old ladies trying to set him up with every man passing by between the ages of twenty and forty. It was…quite something.

“Oh I’m sure he is, Mrs Andrews, I’m sure he is, but maybe we could let him unpack before asking him if he’s gay, right?” She had a habit of asking this question five minutes after a guy greeted her. Erik found it sweet, really, but he could understand how that would make some people uncomfortable.

She sighed theatrically, dropping the subject for now. But he wasn’t stupid, he knew it’d come back really soon.

He didn’t think it would come in that way, though.

An hour after he had arrived, someone rang the doorbell. Erik frowned; he had been sure everyone had been there already. It wasn’t like him to forget one of his neighbors.

At his side, Mrs Andrews grinned. “Oh didn’t I tell you, Erik? I invited the boy! Poor chap is new, he doesn’t know anyone yet, and Dorothy thought it was a good idea, too.”

Erik almost groaned, but couldn’t resist the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Of course, they were teaming up against him. He couldn’t really do anything about it, though, could he. Damn invasive ladies.

Behind him, he could hear some greetings and cooing going on. So that meant he was probably awfully young. Not that it changed anything, right. It’s not like Erik would have been interested, or something.

He turned around when he thought he couldn’t get away with not doing so anymore, and immediately regretted his decision. Really, he’d rather be seen as awfully impolite than have to witness such thing.

The boy – no, the man, definitely a man, no boy could possibly sport such thighs – was surrounded by almost everyone present in the room, offering bashful smiles and polite answers. He was obviously not used to having all this extremely focused attention on him, and was struggling with keeping up with all the conversations going on. And from what Erik could pick up, the conversations revolved around how positively _lovely_ he was. And, yeah okay, he could totally agree with this one. The man _was_ absolutely endearing. Ruffled brown hair, plush red lips, and a shock of blue, higher up. Freckles scattered across his nose, and Erik wondered if he had more somewhere else. On his shoulders, perhaps? That would suit him. Or maybe it was just being shirtless that would suit him. Oh yes, definitely, look at the barely hidden strength in that upper body, and the _shoulders_ -

The man managed to extract himself from the mob around him, and finally came closer to greet the last guests. Readjusting his shirt, he tried to tame his hair down, only managing in upsetting the wild locks some more, and smiled at them.

“Hello, I’m Charles Xavier, I’m your new neighbor?”

And _of course_ he had a British accent. Because why the hell not, at this point.

Erik tried to regain some semblance of self-control while Mrs Andrews greeted Charles, and finally managed to piece himself together enough to feebly introduce himself.

“Hello, I’m Erik. Welcome to the neighborhood.” He almost slapped himself. That was ridiculous. You’d think he was twelve all over again, talking to Magda for the first time, after wasting so much time away asking himself if it was worth the risk of being rejected.

But oh, how Charles _beamed_ at him. “So you live here too! I’m glad I have someone around my age in the vicinity, to be quite honest,” he chuckled, eyes sparkling a bit. He looked positively edible, and Erik hadn’t been this hungry in a long time.

He was in trouble.

 

**

 

Erik spent almost the entire afternoon inwardly cursing.

He apparently couldn’t remember how to behave like a normal adult and, say, hold an actual conversation with another human being. Or rather, with Charles. He wasn’t entirely convinced the man wasn’t some sort of evolved being, yet. Thankfully, Charles was quite alright with babbling to him, as he nodded and hummed at appropriate moments, while shamelessly staring at the passionate expression Charles wore when he was talking about something really important to him. And he talked with his entire body, his hands never settling for long, like the energy thrumming inside him couldn’t be contained, could only push outwards, and pull everyone in.

All the old ladies had suspiciously left them alone, too. How… convenient.

But more than anything, Erik was intensely analyzing. He was desperately trying to find something wrong with his new neighbor, which proved to be a difficult task, so far. The man was twenty seven, two years younger than him, he was a brilliant genetics professor, he was lively, and interesting, and funny, and gorgeous.

No really, Erik was trying, but you had to give a man _something_ to work with. This was absolutely unfair. Because Erik was fine with a bit of flirting, offering each other heated glances from across a room, and even a good fuck, if they were both so inclined. But that wasn’t what was going on at all, there, oh no; Erik was developing a _crush_. And that stuff just didn’t work with him.

Really, anyone with a minimum of logic could see how bad the situation was: they were neighbors, that meant seeing each other around a lot. If Erik tried something, and Charles didn’t want anything to do with him, it could get very ugly, very fast. If he didn’t try anything, it would be the beginning of a long period of pining and self-pity on Erik’s side.

And if Charles was interested, well. Obviously it wasn’t an option worth considering. Erik was almost thirty, and the only thing he was proud of was the fact that he could bake like no one in a neighborhood composed entirely of retired people. How interesting was that.

No, the only solution was to kill the feeling before it really had a chance to start spreading.

“Oh my friend, I think I’ve lost you somewhere. I’m sorry, I must have bored you terribly.” Charles chuckled embarrassedly, leaning away on the couch they were on, and that got Erik out of his thoughts, jolting him back to the present and the terrible realization that he indeed hadn’t been listening to Charles at all.

“Oh no, don’t worry, you didn’t bore me, I just have a lot on my mind lately. I’m sorry I spaced out like that, that was very impolite,” Erik said, horrified at himself for his behavior. That wasn’t something he’d usually do. Even more evidence that this Charles business was definitely not a good thing.

“Oh Erik my dear, you’ve really outdone yourself this time!” Erik turned around to see Mrs Andrews walk towards him, carrying a small paper plate with…

Brownies?

“I don’t know what you changed in your recipe, but boy, keep it that way, now!” She went on, eating a bit more and making a show out of shutting her eyes in pleasure.

What the hell.

His body tensed. “I’m sorry Mrs Andrews, but these aren’t mine, I brought a caramel nut tart, actually.”  
“Oh you did? Thank you Erik, you know it’s my favorite!” Mrs Patterson came up to him and patted his cheek, going in the kitchen to cut his tart.

Mrs Andrews wore a sheepish expression. “I could have sworn these were yours, Erik, they’re delicious!”

Confused, Erik walked to the kitchen counter and put a piece of brownie on a plate for himself. He’d judge himself if they were so good.

Eating his first bite, Erik saw red. These were the most incredible brownies he’d ever had. It was a small piece of heaven on his tongue, he couldn’t quite believe it. He was so angry he would have thrown his plate against a wall if it hadn’t held the heavenly brownies.

Turning around, Erik eyed everyone in the room. Someone was out to get him, obviously. But who? He thought he was appreciated by everyone in here. Who could stage such a public humiliation for him?

“Hum, actually, these are mine.”

Erik stared dumbly at Charles, seeing the man blush and scratch lightly at his neck.

Oh that was _it._

He got up from the couch and fidgeted a little. “I was so happy when Mrs Andrews told me I could come, and I wanted to bring something to thank you all for being so welcoming to me. And it’s a birthday, so we needed a cake, right?” He went on, being all cute and lovely and _innocent_. No one would ever accuse the poor lamb of doing anything bad. But Erik knew better.

His place in the neighborhood had been officially challenged. This man, this _stranger_ , thought he could just come in and be the best baker and bring all the pies to all the parties, but that wasn’t going to happen. Erik wouldn’t let that happen, and he wouldn’t let such an insult go unanswered.

But he needed to plot his next move. So until he could be alone with his thoughts, he smiled at Charles, and complimented his baking skills, raging inside when the man sighed happily and relaxed again.

Everyone ate the brownies. Erik came home with a third of his tart.

 

**

 

On Monday, Erik woke up and went on his usual morning jog. If he ran a little faster than usual, no one noticed. Once he was satisfied with the blankness in his mind, he went home to shower and get ready for work. As the water steadily hit him, he allowed himself to go back to the previous day’s events.

It seemed like he had acquired a crush and a nemesis in less than two hours. That was quite impressive. Not really an achievement he could brag about, but he was fine with keeping it to himself.

Not that the crush part really mattered anymore, with the way Charles had almost publicly executed him. Just almost, though; Erik wouldn’t go down without a fight. He knew he was good, he couldn’t have his skills judged on a simple tart he had baked in an hour on a Sunday for an old lady’s birthday. No, Charles would have to sit and eat the most mind blowing dessert of his entire life, and know with every bite that Erik had baked that.

Erik smiled under the spray, relieved. Of course, that was the easiest way, reassert his position as the best baker by baking something _better_. Obvious.

When he left for work that morning, his mind was still full of Charles, wondering just what he could bake that would make the man drop to his knees in surrender.

 

**

 

His day at worked went like all the others: it was uninteresting, uneventful, and frustratingly long. Erik had never had a calling for accounting, really, but it paid the bills, so that was something.

When he finally got out, he made a quick detour at the store nearby. He had finally decided on what he would bake, but he needed chocolate, and he had run out of it recently. Browsing the aisles, he mentally went through his cupboards and pantry to make sure he had everything he needed. It wouldn’t do to miss an ingredient in the middle of his recipe today. It had to be absolutely perfect.

Finally home, he hurried in his kitchen and got everything ready. He tied his apron, and stared at his working counter.

“Right. Charles Xavier, I’m going to blow your fucking mind.”

 

**

 

An hour and a half later, Erik was looking fresh and ringing Charles’ doorbell, holding a small sweet smelling plate.

When Charles opened the door, he visibly had a pause before beaming at Erik. He answered with his most polite and restrained smile, perfected through years of practice.

“Erik! What a pleasant surprise! I wasn’t expecting you, or anyone really, I’m sorry, I look quite messy,” he said, trying once again to rearrange his disheveled hair and chaotic clothing, his movements obviously heavy with embarrassment. Erik would be embarrassed too, if he was caught wearing an oversized cardigan, the fabric worn and stretched. Charles kept tugging on it, worsening its state.

Erik cleared his throat. “No it’s okay, I’m not staying long anyway, I was just dropping this,” he practically thrust the plate in the blushing face, wanting this to be over as soon as possible.

He expected Charles to politely thank him, take the plate and shut his door, which was absolutely fine, in Erik’s opinion. Instead, Charles seemed to… _glow._ His smile threatened to split his face in half, and his body tensed all over with excitment.

“Really? Did you bake me something? Oh Erik that smells absolutely heavenly, thank you so much, I can’t wait to taste it,” he said, taking the plate from Erik’s outstretched hands and pulling the cloth covering it back slightly. His eyes widened a bit before snapping back up on Erik’s face. “Is that a molten center chocolate cake?” He asked it as if he couldn’t quite believe it, like it was something out of Erik’s skills.

Erik contained his anger at being so looked down on, and plastered a smile to his stiff face. “Yes it is, actually. Do you like it?”

Charles looked almost offended at the question. “Are there actual human beings that _don’t_?” He chuckled playfully, and Erik had to play along. It didn’t matter, they both knew what was really going on there.

“I am extremely weak for anything with chocolate in it, but really, this is too much,” Charles went on, pretending to be touched by the attention or something. Did he really expect Erik to just roll over and not fight?

“It’s nothing, I’m just glad you like it. Tell me what you think about it later!”  
Charles ducked his head a bit, and his smile changed, shrinking but not dimming. “Oh I will.”  

Erik stepped back, waving a little, and went home.

He smirked to himself. Game over.

 

**

 

The next day, Erik was overjoyed. His work didn’t even manage to sour his mood, to the amusing bewilderment of his colleagues. He wasn’t exactly known for his enthusiasm, around here, but he never was one to care about his reputation; he was here to earn his paycheck, nothing more and nothing less. Let’s just say the self-contentment  radiating off him made a few people frown when they passed him.

But on his way home, he caught himself thinking that his life was going back to normal. Meeting Charles had been a slight ripple in the water, but it was over now, the water flowing as if nothing had ever disturbed it. They were neighbors, like everyone else in the street, they’d greet each other and smile politely and be out of each other’s lives. Erik sighed. It was for the best, anyway.

He got rid of his work clothes in his bedroom, put on some sweatpants and a large T-shirt. He never wore anything more formal at home, he wanted to feel as comfortable as possible when he was out of work. It wasn’t like there was anyone to see him like this, anyway.

Passing by his kitchen, he considered baking himself a simple cake, but decided against it. Baking only for himself felt more lonely than he wanted to admit. He settled on the couch instead and began flipping through the channels on his TV. He wasn’t feeling productive at all, this evening.

About twenty minutes later, his relative peace was disturbed by the sound of his doorbell ringing. Grumbling a bit, Erik reluctantly got up to open the door and tell whoever it was to get lost.

His voice caught in his throat when he saw Charles smiling shyly on his doorstep. Damn this man.

“Hello! I hope I’m not disturbing you? I saw you getting home a bit earlier and I thought I’d drop by,” he said, big blue eyes looking up at him from under thick eyelashes, a flash of white teeth on a too red bottom lip. Erik shook himself and remembered to actually answer the question.

“No no, I wasn’t doing anything at all, really, you’re not bothering me.” He suddenly felt keenly aware of the way he looked, almost in his pajamas at half six on a Tuesday. Then he remembered that he didn’t have any reason to want to impress his neighbor anymore. Still, he would have preferred to wear something more fitting. Charles had shed the cardigan, and that white shirt and dark waistcoat combination worked a little too well for him.

“Good! I actually wanted to thank you again for baking me this awesome cake yesterday. I’d like to say I still have some, but unfortunately it was so good I couldn’t stop myself,” he laughed, his body arching forward a bit, as if he was drawn into Erik. “The only regret I have is that I had to eat it all by myself, honestly,” he went on, looking suddenly bashful, his cheeks flushing a little more.

Uhm, right. Erik had probably missed something, there. Or maybe Charles just liked talking in fucking cryptic.

“Oh yeah, too bad, really. Maybe next time you can share your dessert,” he said, not really knowing what else he could say. He tried to appear sympathetic, but he wasn’t sure it worked. Oh, well it’d have to do.

It apparently did the trick, because Charles was smiling again like Erik had just created fireworks in his palm. “Next time, yes, surely! It would be absolutely lovely indeed. Anyway, I won’t stay too long, I just thought I’d give this back to you,” he held out Erik’s plate, now empty of chocolate cake.

But not empty at all.

The surprise must have been obvious on his face, as Charles chuckled slightly. “I thought it would only be fair to make you something in return, after that magnificent cake. Chocolate hazelnut napoleon. I hope you like it? I thought the chocolate was a pretty good bet, but you never know.” He was babbling, toying nervously with his fingers, and Erik could only stare at him.

So he had decided to challenge him again. _Fine._

He smiled at Charles, who was still acting like an awkward mess. “It’s lovely, thank you very much, but you didn’t have to, you know.”  
“Oh I know, but, I wanted to,” he answered, blushing even more. Erik had never before met someone who could act this well. Charles had probably missed his vocation.

“Well it’s very kind, thank you. You made a lot though, you really didn’t have to, it must have taken ages to bake.”  
“Oh no don’t worry, my oven is quite… _efficient._ ” He had moved to lean slightly against the door, and his voice had dropped.

Was Erik supposed to be interested in his oven? What kind of weirdo was this guy.

“Ah yes? How so?” Erik feigned curiosity, not wanting to offend his competitor any more than what was necessary.  
“Now now, I can’t reveal all my secrets like that. How about, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” He had a cheeky grin, and oh, now Erik got it.

No way in hell was this man stepping in his kitchen. He wasn’t stupid enough to let him see his equipment. It would give Charles an advantage, one that Erik was not ready to offer.

He straightened his posture. “No thank you, I’d rather keep mine to myself, if it’s all the same to you.”

Charles visibly deflated, eyes going slightly round with shock, and he took a step back, crossing his arms in front of him. “Oh, right, it’s fine, absolutely. I’m sorry. I’ll just leave you to it, then,” he said rapidly, dropping his head and heading back towards his house.

He left Erik frowning on his doorstep. At least, he clearly knew he wasn’t getting in Erik’s kitchen.

Smirking to himself, Erik closed his door and walked towards his kitchen to put the napoleon on his counter. He had no plans of tasting it just yet, but he still peeled back the cloth covering it to check it out. He almost groaned; of course the top was perfectly smooth.

Erik left everything on his counter and went back on the couch. He was _not_ going to throw himself on the cake Charles had used to challenge him further, no matter how wonderful it smelt. He could have baked it himself; no, he could have baked something even better if he had wanted to. He had absolutely no reason to rush back into his kitchen and taste it.

His great speech managed to hold him back for twenty full minutes, during which he couldn’t help but throw small glances at his kitchen door, as if something was going to come out. Erik finally told himself that he had to try it out now, to be able to judge the most accurately Charles’ baking skills. It wouldn’t do him any good in the competition to let the cake grow cold and stiff and then underestimate his opponent because of his pride.

Satisfied, Erik went to his cupboard and took a small plate out. He only intended to eat a small part of the cake, really, just for research’s sake. Cutting into it, he could see that the layers were extremely regular and straight, and he had to recognize that Charles was obviously talented, and didn’t have an incredible strike of luck with his brownies, a fact that only served to irritate Erik.

Irritation turned into full blown rage when he finally took his first bite. The napoleon was positively mouthwatering, with just the exact ratio of chocolate and hazelnut, not too sweet or too heavy, perfectly balanced. It was amazing. Erik had never tasted anything similar in his entire life.

Fucking Charles Xavier. Erik was going to destroy him. He had no other choice now, couldn’t back down after such an insulting cake. He had to use his absolute best skills, even outdo himself, and end this game. He would not let this man leave unscathed.

But until the next day, he could savor his baking, safe from prying eyes.                                                                                                                                                                                               

 

**

 

The next evening found Erik on Charles’ doorstep again. He had had a lot of time to think, and to mull over his anger. The more he thought about it, the more outraged he was. This man came from nowhere, challenged him in front of every possible witness, and then challenged him again, with higher stakes. This was unacceptable, and Erik was so offended he could have punched someone.

Instead, he tried to think of the most incredible dessert he could bake. And that lead to Charles’ door opening on the rumpled man, looking a bit worse for wear. Erik probably would have worried if he hadn’t felt so satisfied to be the one in control again.

He didn’t think a lot about what it meant that he had spent almost as much time in his bedroom picking out his clothes than in his kitchen.

Charles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Erik, what are you doing here?”  
“I’m only passing by to compliment you on your napoleon, really exquisite. I made you this to thank you,” he said, handing over his precious plate, and the perfectly executed chocolate soufflé it contained.

Charles eyed him, then the plate, with surprise written all over his face. So he had thought Erik would give up after the napoleon. Well, he was sorely mistaken.

“You… you made this for me? Even after, you know, yesterday?” Charles looked so shocked it was almost comical. Except that Erik was all the more angered by it.  
“I made this _because_ of yesterday, Charles, obviously.” If he was a bit more direct well, no one could blame him. Charles thought him such a coward!

But the man only smiled at him, a smaller one than Erik was used to, but all the more true.

“Thank you, Erik. Thank you very much,” he said softly, as if not wanting to break whatever was happening.

Which didn’t make any sense because, really, Erik had just openly declared warfare on him? What was this guy’s problem.

“You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy it,” Erik said, turning around to leave. But he still heard Charles saying “Oh believe me, I will.”

***

 

The entire affair went on for far longer than Erik thought was necessary. After two weeks of fierce battle, neither of them had backed down. Two weeks filled with baking and satisfaction and then small culinary orgasms followed by unprecedented anger. Well, on Erik’s side, at least.

Charles’ side was a bit more confusing. He was always smiling at Erik like it was normal, like they weren’t both fighting for dominance, really. And he kept saying the weirdest things, absolutely out of context, or not making any sense period. He had literally told Erik that delicacy was an interesting skill when they talked about his soufflé! What did this have to do with anything ,really.

 It was all quite tiring. But hell if Erik was going to be the one to cry for mercy. No, he’d keep on baking amazing stuff, until Charles finally admitted that he was the best baker in the neighborhood. There was no other outcome. If he could just do that quickly, it’d be better for everyone. Really, Erik was slowly running out of ideas, he only had so many available recipes, and the next step was probably a wedding cake. He wasn’t stupid enough to show up at Charles’ house with a _wedding cake_ , the old ladies didn’t need such fuel to their gossip, thank you very much.

Two weeks later, then, Erik was waiting for Charles to show up with his stupid smile and his plate. When an hour after his usual time there was still no trace of Charles, Erik couldn’t pretend anymore that his neighbor was late. No wild curls and red lips and blue eyes on his doorstep, that evening; he had won.

He had expected joy, pride, a sense of accomplishment. The loss he felt, he preferred not to dwell on it.

 

**

 

Two hours later, his doorbell rang.

Erik had really not expected to see Charles on his doorstep. Empty handed. Looking far too good.

He was probably here to admit his defeat. Erik would rather leave it alone, if he was quite honest with himself. But Charles was here, extremely nervous and blushing and all kinds of adorable that Erik hadn’t let himself think about the last two weeks.

What had he thought, that first day? Ah yes. _Edible._

“Good evening, Erik. I hope you’re not busy?” For all his nervousness, he still made a point to hold Erik’s gaze.  
“No, absolutely not.”  
“Good. Because I just thought, it would have been rather silly, if you had been busy tonight especially, but maybe it would have been a sign, you know? I would have known it wasn’t worth it.”  
“Charles, you’re babbling and I don’t know what you’re getting at,” he said, slightly amused at the man’s quirks.

 Charles took a deep breath, and laughed a little, visibly relaxing. “Right. I’m sorry, I’m being a bit ridiculous, but I’ve never done this before, so bear with me, here. Okay. I thought that tonight, we could skip the baking and just go eat something neither of us cooked? Together? I’d like to.”

Erik’s brain froze. He was left staring at Charles like an idiot, desperately grasping at the man’s words, trying to make sense of them.

Had Charles just… asked him out? On a date?

“Erik? I’m sorry, was that too soon? I just thought, it’s been two weeks, and it’s just a date, nothing very binding, but if you need more time, I’m very fine with it!” Charles was waving his hands everywhere, and, what?

“I’m sorry, it’s been two weeks that what, exactly?”  
“That, we’ve been kind of wooing each other? You remember that part, right?” Charles asked with a chuckle.

Erik was having a very hard time processing the information. Charles had been wooing him. For two weeks. And he hadn’t noticed. He had taken every little gesture for an aggression, a challenge. Every kind word, he had taken for a sly attack. And Charles had been nothing but absolutely, achingly honest and kind.

He wanted to cry, just a little. Who the fuck wooed someone with baked goods. Who even said _wooing_ nowadays.

He could see Charles’ warm expression falling slowly, until just disappointment was left in his pretty blue eyes. “Oh. You didn’t know, did you.”

Erik was helpless, could only shake his head in answer. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, how could he have been so _stupid!_

“It’s fine, really! No harm done. Now we’re clear, it’s probably for the best,” Charles said with a small smile, nothing like the ones he was usually giving, and Erik was aching. “I’ll just leave you to it, then. Good night, Erik.”  
“Wait, Charles!” He had called before he could even understand what he was doing, and there Charles was, looking so fucking hopeful it hurt. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand sooner.”

Charles laughed, just a little, not happy at all. “Oh it’s not your fault, really, I’m exceptionally bad at this. I have to stop mistaking kind gestures for flirting, that’s all,” he said, smiling again before leaving for good.

 

**

 

Three days later, Erik was sharply dressed in his best suit, fresh out of the shower, and carrying an enormous plate of brownies when Charles opened his door.

Charles sighed. “Erik, really, it’s very kind of you, but I don’t need your pity like this.”  
“No listen to me. This is not me being kind, or sympathetic, or pitying, or anything. This is me properly wooing you,” he said, making his voice sound as determined as he could, hoping his nerves didn’t get through anyway. He hoped this time around, it was worth the risk of being rejected.

Charles stared at him, blue eyes going wide, hopeful. “Are you sure about this?”

Erik smiled, a real, honest smile, like he hadn’t given out in a long time. “I am.”

 

**

 

Many, many months later, when he explained just how badly he had understood the situation, Erik burnt his pie, too busy kissing the laugh off Charles’ lips to hear his oven’s timer go off.


End file.
